


What We Had

by Rhanon_Brodie



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: A-Skars seems the type, Control, Control Issues, D/s, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, F/M, Light Dom/sub, former relationship, sometimes you just want to climb a big blond swedish tree, tearing of nylons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 21:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1240681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhanon_Brodie/pseuds/Rhanon_Brodie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I’ll be anything you want me to be – but I’m nothing without you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	What We Had

**Author's Note:**

> All recognizeable elements are the property of their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.

Of course he’d be here. There was no reason for him not to be. We still traveled in the same circles – his friends, my friends, mutual friends. And we made such a mockery of the term ‘friend’, turned it upside down, backwards, inside out, until the lines of what was platonic and what was consensual blurred. Too much wine, I guess, and too much weed. Whatever the case. He was here. I was here. And I hated the man I was with at the time, or maybe it was just a passing phase, but while he fucked around with a redhead he used to work with, the one that shrugged me off came prowling back, looming darkly, casting shadows, his teeth gleaming whitely in the glow that was deemed ‘mood lighting’.

“You look good.”

“Fuck you,” I smirked. “I look the same. It hasn’t been that long.”

“Feels like ages.”

“It’s been three months.”

He grinned, and I wasn’t sure if I liked the intent behind it. Still, I leaned forward, into his space, out of my comfort zone when it came to him, but then again, I had always tested my boundaries where he’d been concerned.

“Seems like longer,” he breathed. His hand moved and he pushed his fingertips against my hip. “You do look good.”

I exhaled the smoke from the clove I’d lit up, despite him narrowing hard, glacial eyes. “I bet you say that to all your other girlfriends.”

His mouth grew hard and he made a show of waving the smoke away and ignoring my last dig. “I don’t like it when you smoke.”

I chuckled. “You don’t like a lot of things about me. You made it clear by leaving.” I moved to push off the wall, twisting my hip away from his burning fingertips.

For such an imposing figure, he was almost imperceptibly quick, and his hand moved from my hip to my wrist, squeezing none too gently. “I also don’t like it when you’re a bitch.”

I outright laughed at that and his audacity. “Are you for real?”

People were watching; my eyes strayed to their interested faces, but he didn’t move his steely gaze from my face. He knew others were watching. The vein in his temple throbbed as he fought to keep some level of composure for the time being. “You know I never joke around.”

“Are we done here?” Again, I tried to move past him, but with my wrist still in his hand and the way he backed me into the wall, there was little room for me to move. There was no where for me to go.

“Here? Yes. I think this conversation is better suited for a private venue.”

“You’re crazy if you think I’m going anywhere with you.”

He paused and blinked slowly at me. His face was stone; his body barely moving save for the steady rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed. “I don’t recall you ever being this mouthy.” Each word he spoke made his fingers tighten on my wrist until suddenly I felt my own fingers tingle from the minimal blood flow. My cigarette fluttered to the ground and he took a step forward, crushing it to torn tobacco and burnt rubbish.

“I think you’ll be quite surprised what I’m capable of when I’m not under your thumb.”

The words, the phrase, maybe the bratty tone I used, they all served to melt his gaze into one of hot agitation. His nostrils flared. His stance changed, and instead of using his shoulders to pen me, his hips turned forward. Once more, my back pressed against the wall, the cold of the plaster a stark contrast against my heated skin and the vibrating warmth coming from his body. “If I remember correctly, you quite enjoyed being ‘under my thumb’.”

There was a stinging edge to his voice and for the first time since I’d spotted him across the room (and I tried to ignore him, I did, I swear), I felt a tremor of fear – that lusty, dark fear, the kind where you’re unsure of what’s going to happen, and you’re unsure if you should like it or not. The uncertainty of our relationship, of his demeanour, of my willingness, were all like a drug, one wondrous, euphoric thing that clogged our veins and our senses and made us raging addicts. I couldn’t think when I was with him. I couldn’t eat and I couldn’t sleep; I didn’t want to. He invaded every thought. He owned me, and he knew it, from the day it dawned on him to the very moment that night when he stood in front of me, scolding me for smoking like an errant child.

My gaze faltered and I looked anywhere but at him.

“No,” he muttered, catching my jaw between a firm thumb and forefinger. “Look at me.”

He raised my chin and I had no choice but to stare into those Nordic blue eyes. I swallowed down a whimper and felt my veins flutter.

He sensed it, that tremor in my body, the need to be controlled. I knew I needed it. That was the problem with the dipshit I was with at the time: he let me get away with anything; murder, I’m sure, if it came down to it. I shifted in my shoes and automatically my body relaxed with just that one touch and the tone of his voice.

“There’s a good girl,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Now. I think you and I need to have a talk.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We were in an empty room, a study, or an office of sorts, and past the closed doors the party was still in full swing with laughter and shouting and the full throbbing bass of music.

“Sit and have a drink with me.” He folded his long, lean frame into the leather couch and draped an arm across the back.

I tilted my head to one side in incredulous askance, cocking my hip for good measure. “You expect me to believe you wanted to get me alone to have a _drink_?”

He chuckled tonelessly and suddenly leaned forward, elbows to his thighs, and stared me down. “It wasn’t a question. I said sit.”

His voice brooked no argument and my feet moved automatically, carrying me across the floor to where he was. “Where would you like me to sit?” Fuck, I fell into this role – into his trap – far too easily. I always had. He’d told me once that I was a natural, I just needed the right hand to guide me.

Now he smiled, and the curve of his lips made my belly tremble. Always, his smile was somewhere between giddy playfulness and predatory. He sat back again with wide knees and gestured to his lap.

I snorted. “Smooth.” I flashed a wan smile and perched on his knee.

“You’ve developed some bad habits since we went our separate ways. What’s the matter, the boy making you forget your manners?”

“He’s not a boy,” I defended.

“He’s not _me_ ,” he replied. He slid his hand around my hip and yanked me back, dragging me along his thigh until my hip was pressed tightly against the thick bulge behind his suit trousers. The hem of my skirt bunched with the move and he took the opportunity to gently walk his fingertips along the exposed skin.

“No,” I admitted softly, “he’s not.” I turned my gaze to his and licked my lips, waiting for his next move.

“Do you like it when he fucks you?” 

I blinked at him. He sounded like he was asking about my weekend plans while the hand that wasn’t splayed on my thigh deftly stole to the neckline of my dress. There, his thumb stroked the hollow of my throat and he held my gaze, daring me to tell him everything.

“Sometimes,” I finally answered.

His fingers stopped trailing over my collarbones and his hand moved around, up into the hair at the back of my neck. He tightened his fist there until my spine straightened and a small gasp escaped my lips. “Tell me how he fucks you.” The hint of casualness was still in his voice, but there was also something foreboding. I wasn’t sure how he wanted me to reply.

“Not like you,” I replied. “He doesn’t fuck me like you do.”

His voice fell into a soft, low timbre. “And how is that?”

“You fuck me everywhere,” I breathed. “My brain and my body.”

He smirked and turned his hand over on my thigh, gliding up to catch the front hem of my dress. He tugged upwards and my hands flew into action, grabbing at him, pushing him away.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against my shoulder, twisting his hands under mine. Fighting him was useless, but he liked to see me try.

A breath I didn’t know I’d been holding rushed out of me. “Stop.”

Another mirthless chuckle echoed around me. “No.” The hand in my hair tightened in warning and he pulled at my dress again as he stared at me. 

“I need to go.” I tried shoving my body away from him, but he snapped the hand at the back of my head, making tiny pinpricks of pleasure burst along my scalp and spine. I stopped moving. I would have stopped breathing if he asked.

“You’ll stay,” he demanded gruffly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Being a man of his size he took great care to know how to move his body with minimal effort and effectively have me at his mercy. With a shift of his hips and a tug on my hair and my wrist, I found myself on my back, gasping as I pressed my knees together and bucked. He tore my nylons. The more I fought, the more he shredded my stockings until the fibres were thin enough that they cut into my skin, bit into tendons behind my knees, and snagged on my bracelet as I fought to push my dress back down. 

“Don’t touch me,” I uttered, pushing his hand away from where it wedged between my knees.

His mouth lifted at one corner and his gaze was borderline manic. “Don’t make it so appealing,” he replied before digging his fingernails into the inside of one thigh.

I gasped as he fought with the silk of my dress. “You can’t have me.”

I heard the click of his belt and the whisper of leather sliding along cashmere as he pulled it from his slacks. Then, he looped the length of it around my wrists, lashing a grip for his large hand between, and he held me down like that as his other hand yanked at my underwear. It tore at one hip, and that was all he needed: he pushed the ruined fabric down and past my knees, letting it hang uselessly

With a few quick movements, he jerked the clasp of his pants open and tugged his underwear past his slip hips. Closing his fist around the mass of his cock, his free hand tugged through my hair, and tugged my gaze downwards. Just seeing him, the length, the hard smoothness of him already slick at the tip, had me moaning softly, and immediately I moved to press my thighs together. The anticipation was stifling; I clenched deep and hard, and saw stars at the edges of my vision.

“Don’t look away,” he muttered, already lining up his shot. His fist dropped, strangling the base thickness as he arched his hips and forced the first inches of himself into the soaking heat of my pussy. It was tight, and it stung sweetly, burning out my hips to finally melt the line between pleasure and pain. 

My eyes slipped shut, head tilted back, overcome, as inch by hot, solid inch, he filled me, making me so torn between hating him and loving what he did to me that my throat ached. With a sharp, ragged inhale, I whimpered, and my eyes opened. I found myself staring up at him and was startled to find him staring back with unchecked desire. He tilted his head down, glancing between us, and then back up at me, twisting his hips a fraction deeper. My eyelids fluttered.

“No, look at me,” he ordered once more, this time with a hint of softness. 

Dazedly, I stared back, my breath shuddering. I felt him shift against me and then the front of his pants grazing my thighs as he worked to slide them lower, giving him more freedom of movement. His fingers left my hair and I watched as he slipped his thumb between his lips, sucked, and then pressed it against my clit, gently grinding it down against the bone. He continued to work himself all the way in, pulling his hips back, only to press a little deeper each time. Pleasure rolled like over me like lava, white hot, and I heaved a wild moan, rasping and aching.

A small smile played over his lips, satisfied with my response. Leaning down over me, he shifted his hips and dropped into the final inches of me. He chuckled. “I’ve _always_ had you, darling.”

Gods, no, not again…not _still_. I had tried to remove myself from him, from us, but it was a half-hearted attempt. His admission made me thrash wildly, and deep inside, I clasped the length of him, pulling him impossibly deeper.

“I was stupid to let you walk away,” he growled. He drew his hips back and slid slowly inside once more.

My back arched as he moved, the feel of him so ingrained in my body that I was running on pure instinct. Again, his hips rolled, forcing a breathless moan from my lungs.

“There have been others,” he continued, as he set a firm, steady pace, plunging long and hard into the very deepest inches of me. With a fond smile, he leaned closer, putting his lips at my ear. “You’ve spoiled me.”

The hand on my bindings pulled my arms taut once more and he gripped my hip with his other hand, pulling me up to meet him even as I dug my heels into the cushion and bent my knees, desperate to increase the press of his body against mine. I needed it faster. Wanted it. I knew better than to beg unless he told me to.

He hissed and another groan left him as his eyes slipped shut. “Fuck,” he uttered, shifting between my legs until he was crouched over me. He gripped both thighs then, pulling them around his hips, dragging me up onto his lap. “I hate that you’re with _him_ ,” he snarled, hauling me smartly onto his cock.

I yelped at the numb stab of pain that bloomed out into my hips, and my gaze snapped to his, ready for his reprimand.

He didn’t hear me, or he chose to ignore it; both options were a shock. He was always in command of himself and of me, but as he drove steadily into me, his movements became more erratic, and I watched his carefully structured walls begin to crumble.

“Real control,” he breathed, “isn’t something you give up.” He flexed the muscle in his thick length, and the head of his cock thumped deep inside of me, making me choke on a moan. His pace quickened, and I panted, trying to keep up, with his words and his body, and my own control which was spinning dangerously, threatening to slip through my fingers.

Holding me in his hands, he worked me, made me fuck him the way he wanted it, and the way he knew I needed it. Delicious friction flared inside and up and down my limbs as the head of his cock battered the furthest inches in me. When my moans turned breathless and my body burned, he stilled, making me stare up at him, silently begging him to just let me come.

He drew his hips back and dove forward once more. “You’ve always been in control of me.”

At his words, my world tilted, and I saw the way his body trembled and felt the desperation in the clutch of his hands. His words were hot, rasping, not the deep, clear voice he’d often used with me. My thighs clutched his hips as he leaned down once more, and offered a series of long, firm strokes, each ending with the whisper of a groan from his lips. I offered up my own whimper in reply. His lips wandered down my ear and slid warmly and wetly along my shoulder as he pushed his hand between us once more. 

“I want to feel you come,” he groaned sharply. 

I cried out as my toes curled. I buried my face against his neck.

“Yes,” he urged, pumping his hips quickly. “God, yes – now. Come now. _Please_.”

His plea, uttered in such a desperate manner, drove me headfirst into a shattering finish. It ached, swelling through me, making my body shiver. As I shook, he groaned, and with one more gasp he came, hot, long, and with an uncontrolled trembling.

With another sway of his hips, he grunted and collapsed, his sweating brow pressing into the silk of the dress I still wore.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes it's nice to write RPF that isn't about the guy of the moment. A-Skars gets my motor running like no other man can. This piece is the first of several one-shots to come, all based around a D/s relationship that may, in some opinions, blur boundaries.


End file.
